


Second Time Around

by Pi (Rhea)



Series: Free! Femslash verse [3]
Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/F, Femslash, Flogging, kink club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 02:42:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7296277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhea/pseuds/Pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Makoto visits a kink club for the first time since she moved to a new city for her graduate degree program, she isn't expecting to see an ex there, particularly one she wishes she hadn't lost touch with in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Time Around

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd

After staring at her dresser for what is probably an unreasonable amount of time, Makoto gives up. There isn’t actually a dress code, she’s not actually looking for a date. If anyone has comments on her sweatpants they can very well keep them to themselves. She checks the time on her phone, still a half hour until she has to leave. Makoto uses it to tidy up her apartment a bit before she goes. She hasn’t been here long enough to pick up too much extra stuff. It’s the first time she hasn’t shared a place since she left high school. For her undergraduate she lived on campus and then shared and apartment. Makoto doesn’t mind sharing space. There’s something nice about having someone to chat with in the kitchen, even if they’re not a close friend. However, when she budgeted for an apartment it seemed worth it to try and go alone at least for the first year of med school. Makoto is trying a lot of new things. 

On the train, Makoto tries not to be nervous. She probably should have brought some of her class reading to distract her. Makoto is pretty decent at meeting new people, but the idea of going to a kink club feels a bit different then a new set of classmates. Only the club is unfamiliar, Makoto is more than used to the idea of kink itself. Her third girlfriend had definitely changed how Makoto viewed her own sexuality and while she hasn’t had a consistent play partner since then, it’s something she finds herself missing more even than she misses having a girlfriend. The place she’s going is far enough away from her college and where she lives that Makoto feels safely anonymous. The website billed this evening as a “taster” night: an offering of the various activities, events, and classes the club holds the rest of the month. A good time to try it out and see if maybe that might be a fit. Makoto checks the directions one last time on her phone and turns it off. 

The walk from the station to the club isn’t very long, the building looks fairly normal. Signs for the internet cafe on the third floor and law offices on the second dominate the front of the building. If she weren’t looking for it, Makoto would have completely glanced over the second stairway, set slightly farther back, heading down below the street level. The subterranean dungeon aspect makes Makoto shake her head, amused as she descends the stairs. They’re well lit but with there no sign to indicate to passers by that the space below is open to the public.

Hesitantly Makoto knocks on the door. A young woman with a wide smile opens it and ushers Makoto in. She hands Makoto a clipboard and softly requests that Makoto read it thoroughly. A few other people sit on chairs in the waiting area. Makoto takes a chair two down from a man with a rather long goatee. The papers on the clip board describe the nature of the club, which is apparently also a non profit sexual health education center. The privacy policy is as detailed and reassuring as the first time Makoto read it on the website. She skims the rules, having already gone over them online. Makoto prints her name and signs on the signature line. She brought appropriate cash, and clips her ID to the top of the board. The woman who answered the door comes to take Makoto’s clipboard. She walks Makoto over to one of the locking cubbies along the wall and Makoto watches her turn the lock and open it. It’s a big enough space Makoto could have brought a purse, or something more than just her ID, transit pass, keys, money, and cell. The few items go into the cabinet and the woman locks them away, writing the box number down on the top of Makoto’s paperwork. A few more people have entered since Makoto and once the door woman has filed there things away she gathers the small crowd together.

“If you have any questions over the course of the evening, remember you can ask anyone wearing one of these tags.” She points to the piece of hot pink plastic clipped to the lapel of her bolero jacket. If you have anything to report or are worried about any situation, please find someone with one of these orange arm bands.” She holds up a fabric example. “They will be happy to assist you. The list of stations is at the front of the room. You can sign up there. You do not have to use your name, but please remember what name you do use, because if you don’t respond when that name is called you will forfeit your spot in line. You are welcome to wander through the space and watch unless an area is marked off. Please take a moment to review the informational poster of signs and their meanings at the sign up desk. If you’re confused about the meaning of a sign, you can always come back and check. We strictly enforce our personal boundaries policy. Even if someone is naked that is not an invitation to touch them. If you wish to disrobe there will be a room to your right with cabinets to store your clothing. They do not lock so if you have concern for any valuables please speak with me and we will place them in your locked box before you enter. The sign up desk will be able to direct you to towels. Each station has it’s own clean up kit, as participants you are not required to assist in clean up, the person running the station is responsible, but you are more than welcome to help. To the left, opposite the locker room, is the resting room. All food and drinks are free, please keep yourselves comfortable. There are couches and chairs if you need some place to settle. We ask that participants keep play out of the resting room. The WC is at the end of the locker room. It is an absolutely no play space, it is not a space to engage in conversation or physical contact. If you wish to have conversations, the main lobby area, by the sign in desk is the appropriate place. You are welcome to speak there as loudly as you’d like. We ask that you keep volume to a murmur in the resting room and to quiet conversation among the play rooms. Again, you must receive explicit verbal consent before engaging with another participant. If anyone is found in violation of these rules they will be removed immediately and banned from the premises. Is everything clear?”  
Makoto nods along with the rest of the group and the woman smiles, holding up a rubber stamp. “Please present your left hand.” One by one she goes down the row and each persons hand is stamped before they’re allowed to pass through the heavy black curtain. The purple ink is slightly cool on Makoto’s skin. She takes a deep breath and walks through the curtain. 

The other side has the same black walls and bright lighting. Somehow Makoto had expected it to feel smaller and darker, more intimate. Makoto walks over to the sign in desk, which is obvious because of the large lettered sign above it. The poster just beneath the sign shows various small square indicators. Makoto goes over them, trying to make sure she’ll remember. Aside from “no-viewers-allowed”, there’s a symbol indicating that other participants are welcomed to join in, a symbol indicating a clean up kit, a symbol for first aid supplies, a symbol for solo only place space, and several others. Makoto is immediately certain she won’t remember all of them.

Beside the symbol and signage information is a floor plan listing the various spaces. Impact, electrical, medical, restraint, are all informative names, Makoto can’t be sure what play room 1 and 2 entail.

“Here’s the list of what’s on offer tonight.” Says the man behind the desk. He holds out a printed sheet of paper and Makoto bobs a nod, accepting it. The list is quite a bit longer than she expected. Each item has a corresponding room location that matches a designation from the floor plan poster. 

“You’re welcome to wander and see what interests you before you sign up. But once you sign up we request you come back to check in at least once every fifteen minutes so you don’t miss your spot. We announce who’s next to both the resting room and the main lobby space here “He gestures toward the chairs along the wall, the people milling about between the locker room and the resting room.  
“Thank you.” Makoto nods. “Is that the sign up sheet?” The man offers the clipboard to her and Makoto marks herself down for a station. There’s at least one she’s sure of, the rest she’ll have to look at first. Makoto hasn’t written her name in hiragana in ages and odd to put just Mako, perhaps too close to her own name, but at least it’s something she’ll remember and recognize. She double checks the floor plan and sets off to find the restraint section to see if that might be something she wants to add to her sign up. 

It’s strange walking through the play rooms, almost like being in a human gallery. Most people pay Makoto little attention, absorbed in whatever activities they are part of. Others, like Makoto, drift from station to station, watching a little here and a little there. Some stations have particularly larger crowds than others. Makoto stops, peering over heads to see the man who is slowly raising a bound woman off the floor, the intricate twists of his rope pattern holding her securely as she swings slightly from his gentle push. That seems almost fun, though the woman’s contorted position looks a bit uncomfortable, though Makoto supposes that’s likely the point. Makoto checks the number beside the station. 17, she’ll have to remember that. Further on into the next room an older woman giggles and yelps as a younger woman, wearing what looks like metal claws dances and pricks them over her arms. There’s such happiness on the older woman’s face that Makoto stops to watch for a few moments. It isn’t a station Makoto feels particular need to sign up for, but there is something comforting in watching someone else’s delight.

After the speech about clothes, Makoto had expected more naked flesh. There are a few completely naked people, both men and women, some engaged at stations, others walking casually by, or watching. No one seems to pay particular notice, though Makoto sees a few people quickly avert their eyes. All levels of dress are present. Makoto spots a woman in a short evening dress, the kind of stretchy red silk Makoto would have expected for a dance club, sitting quite still as needles are threaded through the skin of her exposed chest. Makoto doesn’t particularly have a problem with needles particularly but something about seeing it makes her intensely uncomfortable. She checks the room’s clock. Close enough to 15 minutes, she hurries back towards the lobby. 

Makoto gets a drink of water from the resting room. Already there are singles and cuddling couples occupying the various furniture. The room is mostly quiet, no murmur loud enough to decipher words.  
“Mako?” is a normal volume request from the door. Makoto barely restrains herself from raising her hand in impulsive response to role call. Instead she nods and walks over to the woman. The lady who called Makoto’s alias has the same pink tag as the woman from the front door, though hers is clipped to the strap of her bright green tank top. She marks Makoto’s name off her clipboard and leads Makoto back to the impact room. 

The sound strikes Makoto first. Other rooms had been filled with moans, groans, giggles, gasps, and the occasional yelp, but here the human sound is overlaid by the whistle and thwack of leather, wood, and rope hitting skin. 

“Isona? Here’s your next.” The woman leading Makoto says. The woman wiping down the pair of black cuffs attached to a tall, free standing wooden grating that resembles a garden trellis more than anything else, turns to them. Makoto bites her own tongue in surprise. The woman with a clip board is already turning to leave, not seeming to notice anything strange in the sudden stand off between the two women she’d just introduced. 

“Hi.” Makoto blurts at the same time that Souske says, “You don’t have to-“ The silence is once again awkward. 

“Oh, I didn’t know you,” Makoto gestures to the garden trellis. 

“Me either.” Souske agrees. She clears her throat, “If you want, I can find one of the others staffing stations in this room. I think there’s someone else who could.”

“No, it’s alright!” Makoto cuts in. “I, uh, I don’t mind.” Souske nods sharply and they continue staring at one another. Souske’s eyes flick to the rack of floggers, then back to Makoto. She takes a deep breath and visibly relaxes. 

“Alright, well then you might want to take off your shirt. You can put it there.” She points to a chair next to the cart with the ‘clean up’ sign on it. Makoto quickly strips it off, folding the shirt and placing it on the chair. After a quick glance back over her shoulder she snaps off her bra as well. That is a little strange. Souske hasn’t actually ever seen her breasts before. Makoto hadn’t gotten naked for a partner until college, too awkward and self conscious in high school. Souske had never pressured her about it either. Makoto had sometimes felt bad about her body-shyness. They’d broken up because they were going to different cities for undergrad. Makoto has never been good at keeping up long distance. She hears from Nagisa because Nagisa calls at least every other month. Haru doesn’t use the phone, but in undergrad Haru was studying in the same city, and came to crash on Makoto’s couch whenever she and Rin were having a fight. Makoto hasn’t seen or heard from Souske in five years. 

Placing her bra on top of her shirt, she turns back around. Souske’s standing by the rack of floggers, running one meditatively over her hand, waiting. Makoto takes a moment to just look. Souske has gotten slightly taller since high school. She’s still managed to be taller than Makoto which is saying something since Makoto’s always felt she stands out as a tall woman. Souske’s hair is shorter than high school, spiked up fashionably. She wears tight jeans and a loose button up black shirt, rolled up to the elbows. Fashionable, comfortable, powerful and at ease in this space, fingering the flogger she’s chosen.

“Alright” Makoto says to catch Souske’s attention. Souske doesn’t blink at Makoto’s nakedness and her gaze remains fixed to Makoto’s own. 

“You can hold onto the straps, or I can velcro your wrists in, whichever you prefer.”

“I’ll hold them.” Makoto steps up to grab the straps. She can hear Souske walking to stand behind her. 

“At any point you can tell me to stop. When we’re working with people new to these experiences we often explain what we’re doing as we’re doing it, would you like me to do that?”

“No, I know. I’m new here, not new to this.” Makoto answers. Souske doesn’t say anything else. The flick of the floggers blades tap lightly against her skin. Makoto closes her eyes, relaxing into the somewhat familiar pattern, almost gentle swipes rhythmically warming up her skin. Souske adds intensity working the pattern up until the blows are harder but less frequent. Makoto’s fingers tighten around the straps, shoulder’s flexing and tensing involuntarily. The next strike hits her back like a blow. A hard, thudding vibration through her chest that rattles her breathing. The flare of warmth that follows it seeps into her muscles. Makoto sinks into that relaxation until the next blow slams her body forward. The harder blows come more quickly, a storm thundering out against Makoto’s back before tapering again until once more it’s just the light graze of the cords whispering to her fevered skin. Makoto groans not quite ready to be done. But of course this is a tasting, all the sessions are short, previews of what that particular form of play is like, the facilities and people at the club. Makoto lowers her arms and rolls her shoulders. She hears Souske place the flogger back on the rack. Makoto doesn’t really want to put her shirt back on. She picks it up and folds it over her arm instead, bra still draped over top. 

“Thanks.” Makoto smiles. Her voice sounds warm with the suffusion of good feeling this always gives her. Souske grins back.  
“Any time,” she says with feeling. Makoto searches her face, but she seems genuine.  
“Really? I just moved, well closer to here a few months ago. If you wanted?” Makoto bites her lip. “Or maybe we could get coffee and talk?”

“I’d like that, both. I’m single” Souske gives an exaggerated wink with such self-aware irony that Makoto has to laugh. Glancing to the clock, Souske continues “I’m working this station for another forty-five minutes, but there’s an all night bakery in walking distance. If you’re free now?” 

“Yeah definitely.” Makoto doesn’t have any other plans for the evening. Makoto is pretty certain if she weren’t ridding the current high of relaxation and lassitude she’d be starting to feel giddy. As it is, whatever chemical reaction is encompassing her body is making her closer to tears than laughter. Makoto drops Souske’s gaze, trying to tamp down on the feeling before she starts shaking.

“Good,” Souske takes a step forward, “I’ll see you then.” She ducks her head to catch Makoto’s eyes. “Hey,” Souske’s hands stretch out, not touching but waiting for permission.

“Yeah.” Makoto says again and Souske’s dry palms draw her forward into a hug. Makoto closes her eyes. She feels her heart beat slowing to match Souske’s, feels the press of Souske’s buttons against her skin, feels the bristle of the close shaved hair at Souske’s neck when she turns her face to breathe in Souske’s skin. They stand there for a long moment.

“I’ll see you in forty minutes.” Makoto whispers into Souske’s ear. Souske releases her.

“Count on it.” With a brief squeeze to Makoto’s shoulder Souske leaves to alert the sign in desk she’s ready for her next person. Makoto clips her bra back into place and settles back into her shirt. She passes Souske going again in opposite directions as she heads out to the resting room. Makoto fills a glass of water from the water cooler and takes one of the cookies from the table. There’s an empty chair that looks plushly comfortable so Makoto sits down. Her back still feels warm, pressed against the chair. Makoto knows its probably a poor plan to close her eyes but with the quiet murmur of voices, the warm comfort of the space and it’s slightly dimmer light, it’s hard to resist. 

When she opens them again, Souske’s hand is on her shoulder. 

“Hey, ready to go?” Souske asks. Makoto fails to suppress a yawn and takes Souske’s hand. She can’t help but find it significant that Souske doesn’t drop her hand the whole way out, even when that means they both have to fumble keys and phones one handed. Out on the street, in the cold bite of wind it suddenly feels unclear. Makoto turns sharply to Souske, pulling on her hand.

“Is this a date?”

“I hope so!” Souske replies and Makoto lets out a relieved breath. “I’ve been teaching classes here for a couple of years, and I’ve been working tasting nights almost a full year now and that was by far the hottest experience I’ve had.” Souske’s smile is predatory, “I already know you’re a great date, but seeing you in there, clearly there’s a lot more I’d love to get to know about you.” Makoto can feel her blush stretching out to her ears. 

She squeezes Souske’s hand, “Yes, well, me too.” Souske moves closer, face filling Makoto’s vision, her eyes drop pointedly to Makoto’s lips.

“May I?” 

Makoto closes the distance between them before she can form the words of her answer. The kiss is sweet and warm until Souske’s hands come and cup Makoto’s backside pulling her closer while Souske’s teeth nip and Makoto’s lower lip. The squeak Makoto makes is totally called for. That sort of kiss would never have happened when they were teenagers.

“That all right?” Souske asks. 

“Not if you want us to actually get to your coffee shop. How often do people come by here anyways?” 

“This late? We’re too far from the station.” Souske slides her hand back into Makoto’s. “It’s this way.” She says jerking her head down the block. “So, what’d you move nearby for, how nearby are you exactly?” Makoto smiles and follows, five years is probably a lot to catch up on, but Souske’s hand is warm in her own and Makoto is eager to get to know his beautiful woman, again, for a second time.


End file.
